The chaos had lasted three minutes tops, but they’d spent the next three hours on their hands and knees scrubbing carpet and wiping up. Then they’d had to finish mudding and texturing the walls.
Somewhere in there, his phone died. It lay on the seat next to him, getting the rest he wished he’d been able to get. These longs days wore on him.
His headlights swept the yard and landed on a darkened trailer. It was only nine o’clock. Maybe Maggie was out with Jennifer again. A sense of abandonment tightened around his neck, and he tried to fight it off. Yes, he was working hard, but Maggie was too. His stomach growled as he imagined the Tupperware containers full of delicious food she’d stacked in the fridge. Coming home to home-cooked meals, even reheated ones, restored his weary soul in a way nothing else could.
He made his way inside, being careful not to make a lot of noise in case Maggie was already asleep. Her bed was made, the blanket tight. There was a bowl full of red liquid on the counter. He dipped a finger in and licked it off. Yuck—melted Jell-O. The trailer looked like it always did. Except Maggie’s apron was wadded up and thrown on the couch.
He busied himself getting dinner. The microwave hummed, and he plugged in his phone.
Glancing out the small window, he caught the flash of someone moving on the porch and a dim light. His senses went on high alert, and as he sucked in air, he caught a whiff of something masculine that didn’t belong to him, like a man with heavy cologne had hung around. Had someone been in here? The door had been unlocked when he’d gotten there.
He barreled out, ready to protect his property and his wife. Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, keeping his back to the porch, he worked his way around the house to the far side. Someone was there, moving boards. What in the world?
He reached for his phone, wanting to catch them on video before throwing them off his property. He patted his pockets and realized that he’d left the phone in the trailer.
Blood, filled with righteous indignation and peppered with anger, thrummed through his veins. Destroying his house was going too far. He’d press charges—whatever he had to do to send a message that he wasn’t going to stand for this.
He gripped the rail, hoisted himself over, and landed in a crouched position, ready to strike.
Maggie screamed and threw something at him. He ducked, the acrid smell of stain flying past. The paintbrush hit the bushes. “Cash! You scared me to death,” she yelled.
“Sorry!” He went to step closer, his arms out to gather her close.
“Stop.” She held up a hand.
He paused. Was she mad at him? Before the chaos of cramming a month-long dining room job into two weeks, she’d been open to being held.
“Watch your step.” She crouched down and grabbed the lid to the stain can.
She had on a pair of coveralls, her phone tucked into the front pocket with the flashlight turned on to illuminate her work. His finish boards were lined up and stained, the smell growing stronger the longer he stood here. She used a hammer to set the lid in place and stood, rubbing her dirty hands on her coveralls.
He continued forward, placing his steps in the small places between the boards. “You painted yourself into a corner.”
She chuckled. “I figured I could exit the way you came in.” Her phone shut off and the light went out. “There goes my battery.”
“Looks like it held out for a long time.” He stopped when he reached her space. “Why are you out here doing this, though?”
She glanced quickly away. “Your lawyer stopped by.”
He snorted. “That explains the cologne lingering around the trailer.”
She giggled. “Is it still there? I thought it would go away after a couple hours.”
He chuckled, placing his hand on her hip just because he needed to touch her. “What did he want?”
She bit her lower lip. “It’s not good.” As she explained about the new deadline, the blood slowly drained out of his extremities. “But I figured that if we work together, we can get it done.”
He shook his head. “It’s not possible.” There was too much. Overwhelmed, he sat down and leaned his back against the house. All the work, the time, the effort, was for nothing. Facing the end of a beautiful dream took it out of him. “It’s over, Mags.” His words were harsh. They were done. The experiment was over.
She stared down at him for a moment. With a sigh, she moved to sit next to him, their shoulders, hips, and thighs touching. His dream was gone, and this was the moment she would tell him she wanted to leave.
Her hand moved under his, and she threaded her fingers through his, holding tight. “Are you giving up?” she asked him.
He moaned. “I’m not giving up. I’m facing reality. I can’t even get into the house right now.”
“Are you being real? Or do you feel beaten down?”
He blew out a breath. “It’s been a rough day.”
